Song of Fate
by King Under the Mountain
Summary: The Third Magic. The Heaven's Feel Ritual. The Manifestation of the Soul. The magi thought that it had been dismantled after the end of the Fifth Holy Grail War. They were wrong. It simply laid dormant as it reformed once again. One hundred and twenty years later, their descendants will have to pay the price in a new War. For some it is hell, for others it is an opportunity.
1. Preparation

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Fate/Stay Night Franchise.**

**The Song of Fate**

**Prologue:**

Tohsaka Manor; Fuyuki, Japan: December 19, 2124 A.D.

_Three days before the start of the war._

Taiki Tohsaka's hazel eyes stared glumly at his left hand as he sat in a comfortable chair. The tattoos had appeared the previous night, marking him as a Master in the Holy Grail War.

Only there wasn't supposed to be one. His great-grandmother had made sure of it nearly one hundred and twenty years ago. Rin Tohsaka and Waver Velvet, a Master of the Fourth War, had dismantled the Grail system. The Einzberns hadn't been happy with that decision.

But then, they never were happy about anything.

However, it seems that something as powerful as the Third Magic could not be stopped simply by dismantling it. After all, the Grail was immaterial until claimed by the winning Servant. Briefly, he wondered who his opponents would be. The Einzberns were all but assured. Taiki represented the Tohsaka family. The Makiri were wiped out by events during the Fifth Grail War. The triad of families was broken. The other participants could come from as far as Europe and the Clocktower. Or the Grail would randomly choose Masters like it did with Ryuunosuke Uryuu and Shirou Emiya.

He ran a hand through his untrimmed brown hair as he stood up, picking up a cloth covered bundle and slinging it across his shoulder. He was tall for a Japanese man, standing at slightly above six feet. However, he was of mixed blood, Japanese and German, resulting in his odd appearance. His hazel eyes and light brown hair just did not seem to match up with his Asian features, and apparently gave him an intimidating, yet alluring face. He found out about the latter during high school when he started finding his locker jam-packed with love letters. Even in college, he found no peace.

He shuddered when he remembered a particularly embarrassing incident where a professor tried to seduce him during his first year. After that he began to wonder if he had a Mystic Face, like a certain Irish hero. His father had laughed and said that he had the Emiya gene.

He looked up at the clock. It was nearly time. If he was going to summon a Servant, he would do it right. The twenty-two year old remembered the story of Rin's summoning, and how all of the clocks in the house were an hour fast. Apparently, it had been a test from Taiki's great-great-grandfather for his daughter, but it ended up screwing her over in the Fifth War. Not to mention nearly causing a time paradox and possibly blowing up the planet.

No, he would not make the same mistake. The circle was prepared, though to be honest, not much work was needed. The original circle that Rin had used to summon her Archer was still in place, undisturbed in the century and a half after it was last used. All it needed had been some touch ups and some gems to provide power for the ritual.

At once, all of the clocks in the house chimed. He checked his own watch. Midnight. His hour of power. It was time.

His younger sister Saya entered the room and looked at him expectantly, tapping her foot impatiently. From the pictures, she looked remarkably similar to Tohsaka Rin, down to her preferred hairstyle. However, her hair was a light brown, and her eyes were green, showing the foreign heritage of their mother.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"As ready as I can be for participating in a deathmatch that was supposed to have been stopped over a century ago," Taiki replied wearily.

"Suck it up," Saya gave her brother her "drill sergeant" look, "You're a magus. We walk with death."

Where Rin Tohsaka had at least pretended to act like a lady, Saya was completely different. She was blunt all of the time, apparently clueless as to the definition of subtlety. She was stubborn to the point of being obnoxious. She was also a bit of a tomboy. Taiki thought about it for a moment.

On second thought, his sister acted exactly like Rin Tohsaka.

Thinking that he was taking too long, Saya grabbed Taiki's sleeve and dragged him to the basement door, almost kicking him down the stairs, "Go on, Dad's waiting."

Taiki and Saya's father, Kariya Tohsaka, had agreed to help out with the summoning ritual. Named after Rin's surrogate uncle Kariya Matou, their father was the current head of the family. He was only a few years away from passing on the title to Taiki, who already possessed the entirety of the Tohsaka crest. Though only forty-eight, Kariya was affected by a curse that made his body age at a faster rate, making him look nearly ten years older. Inflicted by a magus-turned-Dead Apostle during his last hunt, the resulting depression had nearly killed him. It took nearly two years of therapy and support from his family to recover from that and lift the curse, though by that time the damage had been done. He required a cane to walk, as the rapid aging had weakened his muscles, especially in his legs. His left leg was partially paralyzed, and bending that knee was difficult, and his right leg alone couldn't hold up his entire body without support.

The pair walked down the stairs, to find their father waiting for them, sitting in a chair and looking directly at them.

"Are you ready, Taiki?" Kariya inquired.

Taiki rolled his eyes, "Saya already asked me, Dad."

"This is a serious matter. Once you summon your Servant, there is no going back," his father stated, with a stern look on his slightly wrinkled face, "Do you have the catalyst?"

"As best as we could find on short notice," Taiki shifted the object on his back, "Good thing your grandfather liked to collect swords, Dad. We must have had the luck of the devil that your parents didn't get rid of them."

The older man's serious face broke into a smirk before quoting, "'No member of the Emiya clan can get away from swords.' Seems like it's still true. It's hard to believe that he got a hold of the actual Durendal, though."

Taiki squirmed slightly at the sentence. How Shirou Emiya had gotten a hold of it was a mystery lost to time, but he suspected that Zelretch had something to do with it. As usual. Right now, strapped to his back like a book bag was one of the most famous blades in European history. The sword of Roland the Paladin, the greatest of the Peers of Charlemagne. Known as the Peerless Blade, it's eternally sharp and indestructible blade made it one of the few Noble Phantasms to survive into the modern age.

That was who he was hoping to summon. Roland was not the strongest of heroes, like Gilgamesh and King Arthur, but he was by no means an average Servant. Single handedly holding off an entire army had to count for something. Using this particular blade as the catalyst, he was sure to summon the hero.

Unwrapping the cloth from around the legendary sword, Taiki placed it in the center of the circle, careful not to smudge the re-done lines. Saya offered him the book, which had been used by Rin nearly a century before. Turning to the correct page, he began to read the lines of the ritual.

"Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the contract, hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg."

With the first words spoken, the circle began to glow red as the rubies channeled their stored power.

"Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Five perfections for each repetition."

Taiki felt all thirty-seven of his circuits activate, plus the several dozen in his crest. He almost gasped at the sensation. It was as though someone had set fire to all of his nerves simultaneously.

"And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in mine stead."

The glow of the circle turned to an almost blinding light.

"Heed my words. My will creates thy body, and thy sword creates mine destiny."

Prana surged through his forced open circuits. The pain from earlier was nothing compared to this. A wind appeared from nowhere, seemingly originating from the circle, blowing around dust from the rarely cleaned room.

"If thou hear the Grail's call and obey mine will and reason, then answer me."

Cold mist began to pour forth from the circle, signaling that his summons was being answered. The fog moved in a circular motion around the summoner and altar.

"I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world. That I shall defeat all evil in the world."

The circle responded to his words by forcing the light to go to even greater levels of brightness.

"Thou, Seven Heavens, who art shrouded by the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of inhibition, O guardian of the scales!"

The wind sped up, howling as it caused the mist to swirl and churn into a miniature tornado, filling the confined space of the basement. Pure power burst out from the circle as all of the gems in it shattered, knocking Saya from her feet and almost tipping over their father. All of the lights in the room instantly went dark. As the mist cleared, a thought appeared in Taiki's mind.

There were two heroes associated with Durendal. Roland, its famous wielder, and Wayland the Smith, its crafter. With horror, he realized that he had no control over which one was summoned. Both were eligible for the Saber class.

Yes, there was a better chance that he would summon the knight, but there still existed the possibility that he would summon the crippled smith. While he would have been tough and strong, Wayland had been hamstrung in his legend, making him near useless as a frontline fighter like the Saber class!

A feeling of dread and anxiety overcame him as he watched the fog part to reveal his Servant.

A voice echoed out from the obscuring mist, "I am Saber, and I have answered thy summons, magus."

The clank of metal on concrete rang out as something moved forward. First came a silver plated boot, then another. Bit by bit, the rest of the figure was revealed. Its armor was gleaming, illuminated by the remains of the circle. The plates were protective, covering the major blood vessels and organs, but not too bulky as to restrain movement. Numerous designs were carved into the armor, but Taiki could identify none of them. A red battle kilt covered its legs down to their knees, cut in the front to allow full movement, and the clothing underneath matched the blood-colored hue. A cloak, also red and trimmed with silver, flowed down from its shoulders to half way down the shins. Heavy gauntlets, bulkier than the rest of the armor, covered its hands. A horn made from ivory hung on a strap from its belt.

A young-looking male face, only a few years older than Taiki himself, looked back at him with green eyes. His features were distinctly European, there was no hiding that. Dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. The two men were approximately the same height and could look each other in the eye.

On his left hip was Durendal, in its sheath once more.

The knight spoke again, "I ask of thee, art thou my Master?"

Taiki could only nod, so stunned was he at being in the presence of a legendary hero. The Servant knelt, "Then the contract is complete, milord. I am at your service."

The magus managed to shake himself out of his stupor, "Arise, Sir Roland. We have work to do."

Kariya, from his chair on the other side of the room, muttered, "And so it has begun again…"

* * *

Stamford, England: December 17, 2124

"But let thine eyes be clouded with chaos. Thou, who art caged in madness, and I who doth hold thy chains. I swear that I shall be all of the good of the world, that I shall defeat all who stand in mine path. Thou, Seven Heavens, shrouded in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of inhibition, O guardian of the scales!"

The summoning circle, drawn under the full moon, glowed an ominous violet as it conjured the one the summoner sought. Slowly, it rose from the ground, like a creature emerging from Hell. It let out a bestial howl, breathing in the air for the first time in nearly a thousand years. The cold air had no effect on the beast, even though it was only dressed in a pair of trousers and boots.

He was free!

His limbs felt heavy again, and the axe in his hand felt right. His eyes glowed red with madness from behind his mask, yet he spoke, "So, I have been summoned by a Saxon? A strange turn of events."

"Watch your tongue, mad one," the summoner barked, though they were perplexed at the Berserker's ability to speak, "Normally I would not deign to have dogs serve me, but I have need of your strength."

"Oh? And who is it that orders me?"

"I am Elizabeth Archibald, though you will address me as Master," the newly named Master snapped. She was young, no more than sixteen years old. The young woman had yet to finish growing, barely standing at the level of the hulking warrior's bicep.

"And what makes your think that I will obey the orders of a litt-" Berserker halted his question when Elizabeth raised her left hand, showing the command seals shining threateningly. The mad warrior chuckled, "Very well, I will follow your command." He paused and grinned maliciously, "For now."

* * *

Einzbern Castle, Germany: December 12, 2124

"Old Man Acht" as he was occasionally called, cited the words of the ritual. The ritual had been prepared long ago in preparation for the war that never came. At least until now. The Fourth and Fifth Wars had been failures. Neither hiring a magus to be a contender nor using a homunculus as a Master had worked. As the old phrase said "When you want something done right, do it yourself."

And so Jubstacheit von Einzbern, veteran of the Second Grail War, was going to enter the war himself once again.

Now standing in the middle of the circle was a man, mid-thirties, garbed in white and grey robes. His beard was one that Acht had to admit rivaled his own, and still retained its youthful brown. He looked appraisingly at his Master with dark eyes. Apparently, he did not like what he saw.

"So, I have been summoned by an old man," He rolled his eyes, "_Meraviglioso_." The Servant gave a bow, "I am Caster, at your service, _Maestro_."

Inwardly, the head of the Einzbern family groaned. This was already heading towards becoming a train wreck, and the war had not even begun yet.

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan: December 21, 2124

She was a wreck. First, she had been fired from her job. Then her boyfriend broke up with her. And now, she was being mugged.

"Come here cutie, we won't bite. Much."

And possibly raped if this went on for much longer. The woman did the only thing she could, unarmed and outnumbered as she was.

She let loose a bloodcurdling scream and grabbed a nearby trashcan, chucking it at the nearest mugger. As surprised as he was at the woman picking up a garbage container filled with nearly fifty pounds of trash and throwing it, the thug managed to scramble out of the way. His buddy, however, got clipped by it and was knocked to the ground, wondering what the hell just hit him.

As her veins were filled with adrenaline, she didn't take notice of a burning sensation traveling up her nervous system, along her untrained magic circuits. Or if she did notice it, she ignored it in favor of the situation in front of her.

Mugger number one whipped out a knife and cautiously approached the panicking woman. Her response was to pick up another trashcan, which were quite plentiful in the alley they were standing in. Before she could weaponize it, the man made his move. He charged forward and stabbed with the blade.

The woman was forced to drop the garbage can to instinctively defend herself using her arms. She moved just enough that she didn't take a body wound, but her left bicep received a nasty cut. Rivers of crimson started flowing down the limb.

In a moment of clarity, the woman chanted in her head, _Oh God, oh God help me!_

As the mugger began to go for another strike, a blinding light appeared from behind the victim. She immediately whipped around to see what it was, and was also stunned. In the light's place was a man standing inside of what appeared to be a magic circle. Or at least she thought it was a man, as the figure wore a white robe and cloak that covered any features.

Strapped to his back were two weapons. One was, what she assumed to be, a spear, wrapped in the same material as he was dressed in. The other was a staff, approximately five feet tall with a bronze snake wrapped around the top portion of it. Three identical words were burned into the wood, though not in any language that the woman understood. In his right hand was a short, broad-bladed sword.

She thought the sword looked familiar, but couldn't place where it was from.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the man's voice, confirming the being's masculinity, "So, which one of you summoned me?" He seemed to look back and forth between the three, "No takers? Fine, a little test. Tell me if you can still see me." With that, he promptly vanished. At least from the eyes of the muggers, anyway.

The woman was still staring directly at him as though nothing had happened. The other two however, were wildly searching around. Before they could say anything, they suddenly found their guts spilling out on the ground and their throats slit. The cloaked man was now standing on the other side of the group from where he had originally been. The woman blinked. She hadn't even seen him move.

Blood covered the once-white garment, but before her eyes, it fell off like rain on a sheet of glass to drop in a puddle beneath him. It was as though the cloth refused the stain of blood.

The warrior started to approach, but the young woman was too terrified to move. He got closer and closer, and the sound of his boots got louder in her ears, but still nothing. Unexpectedly, he held out a hand to her, "Servant Lancer, at your service Master. By the grace of the Lord."

Under the hood, she could make out a pair of brown eyes.

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan: December 18, 2124

The magus was absolutely giddy. He'd done it! The others at the Clocktower had laughed at him when he claimed he was going to enter the Grail War, saying there wasn't going to be one. He'd even shown them the command seals that were forming on his hand at the time. But still they laughed and called it an intricate tattoo, regardless of how much he insisted otherwise.

And then they had called him a failure and an idiot.

True, he was not skilled in magecraft as some were. He was not rich, did not come from a long and glorious line of magi. He had to steal his catalyst from a museum.

But he was most certainly not an idiot. A fool he may be, but an idiot he was not.

He had prepared the circle to exact specifications. He had the catalyst and spoke the correct words.

They say that age is power, and the catalyst was certainly old. The pieces of clay that had once been a container of some sort had predated recorded history.

The magus had almost literally felt the power radiating off of the result. This being was old to the point of predating metalsmithing. His spear was tipped not with a bronze tip, but a stone one. No gold adorned the regal figure, but rather the teeth of some large predator secured to a leather strap around his neck.

He wore no armor, as the concept had not been invented in his time. Instead, he was dressed in a kilt that reached to his knees, and a great mantle made from deerskin. A pair of large antlers were joined at the ends behind his neck, and curved around to cover his shoulders. His state of dress would have left little to the imagination. His muscled body was bronzed, possibly from near-constant exposure to the sun, and his hair and thick beard were black. But it was his eyes that drew attention.

His hellish, red eyes, with their cat-like pupils. That, and a strange ring on his right hand. It was made from some kind of black material, with red lines running through it.

Unfortunately, his sheer age made identifying him impossible. The magus had heard of some stories of ancient heroes cropping up every now and again, but they were extremely vague.

The man had yet to speak, so he had to take the initiative, "Servant, who are you?"

The Heroic Spirit gave an arrogant snort, "A mongrel like you does not deserve to know my name. However, I will permit you the knowledge of my class. I am Rider."

The magus couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in irritation, "Very well, then I a-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before he found Rider's spear through his chest. The weapon had punched through his breast bone, passed through his heart, and then out his back, tearing one of his vertebrae out with it. The bloodstained tip dully reflected the light from the lamps nearby. He remained standing only because Rider did not allow him to fall. The man stared dumbly at the growing blood stain before looking up at the traitorous Servant.

The hellish eyes met his as he managed to stutter out, "Why?"

"Because I don't need you. And because I bow to no one, except for the gods themselves," Rider replied, a cruel smile marring his face. A quick jerk of the arm removed the spear and sent the former Master toppling to the ground.

The magus looked up weakly at the Servant, just as a sandal-clad foot crushed his skull.

Rider ignored the crunch and blood splatter as he reviewed the information that the Grail provided him with on the modern world.

"So the world is larger than I thought. No matter. It will be mine once again."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan: December 20, 2124

Alexandra Marinos, pride of her family and as mature as her twenty-two years of age would allow, was utterly embarrassed and frustrated. She tried moving up and down on it, and started going faster and harder when it didn't work. It held strong against her assault. Her body ached from the strain of the past hour. Sweat was pouring off of her as she stopped to catch her breath and wipe her drenched hair out of her eyes. It was harder than she thought it would be.

Archer looked up at her, a mildly amused look on his face, showing absolutely no sign of exertion, "Are you finished already? Or are you going to keep going?"

Alexandra flushed and jumped right back to it, with twice as much effort. She swore she saw it bend slightly. A few minutes later, though she struggled mightily, she could not hold it. She let it go with a gasp.

The bowstring slipped out of her fingers and fell to the ground.

Archer, dressed in a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans, was lying on the floor a few feet away, busting out laughing. His booming voice taunted her, "Where did all of that bluster go, Master? I thought you said you were going to beat me at my own game."

The magus invented several shades of red in a single instant. One of these days, her pride was going to get her into trouble. She angrily chucked the bow at the Servant, who easily caught it, "Take back your stupid weapon, Archer." The young woman then turned on her heel and headed out of the room, "I'm going to get a shower."

"Can I join you?" The Heroic Spirit asked non-chalantly.

The Greek woman stopped and started to seriously consider it. Then she remembered something and managed to shake herself out of the stupor before muttering, "Stupid A rank Charisma." The magus whirled back towards him and shouted, "NO!" With that, she stormed off to the bathroom.

Archer sighed to himself, "Damn, so close. Why did I have to get a prude for a Master?"

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan: December 21, 2124

The shadows covered the woman as she fed. It was her favorite meal, and she loved getting as much of it as she could. Her tongue snaked out and caught a bit of it that escaped her mouth. There was still some that got away of course, but she didn't care. There was still plenty left.

Oh, how she loved the taste of it, the smell of it. She knew what people thought of her, both in life and after death. But she didn't care. She did not care for the opinions of anyone but herself.

This meal, her summons. It was all in her service. The man that summoned her only loosely claimed the title of Master, to appease both her and the judge of the Holy Grail War. She had the former wrapped around her finger since she was summon three days ago. The latter would only take time.

She was beauty incarnate, it would seem to any that saw her. Her blood red eyes matched her flowing hair, which trailed half-way down her back. Dressed in a tight black dress, her curves were emphasized. From the slit on the sides of her garment, a good bit of both legs showed. The neckline of her dress plunged to mid-way down her chest. Everything about her looked perfect.

She smiled as she thought about it, and allowed the body to drop from her grasp. She looked down at it with red eyes. A girl, barely into her maiden years, fifteen at most. And a virgin.

She loved the taste of a virgin girl's blood more than anything else.

The Grail had given her the title of Assassin, but she disdained that name. To her, it was vulgar, and did not truly describe her. She preferred to be called "Milady" or "Countess," which she insisted her "Master" to use when addressing her.

The Countess' gaze moved onto the next course of her meal. The other girl, who was the same age as the previous victim, was very much so conscious. Her hands and feet were tied up, and a gag had been shoved into her mouth. Muffled screams tried to get past the gag, but failed. She then tried to squirm away.

Assassin quickly caught her and easily lifted her up to eye level, "Now now, we can't be having that. Go to Heaven knowing that you died to better me."

Her mouth opened to reveal a pair of sharp fangs.

* * *

Reconstructed Church, Fuyuki, Japan: December 22, 2124

Father Davide Aldebrande sighed and stood up, his fifty-three years starting to show as his joints creaked.

He had been dispatched from the Vatican nearly a week ago to oversee the sudden return of the Heaven's Feel Ritual. The middle-aged former executor guessed that he had been chosen to replace the now-deceased Kotomine family because he was disposable. The Holy Grail War did have a tendency to be explosive after all.

However, he was not alone. As a surprise, it appeared that the Grail had summoned an administrator of its own. While he was suspicious of their presence, he could not help but be awed at the same time.

A slip of a girl, no more than sixteen years old, knelt in front of the altar in prayer. While dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, she seemed to exude holy power and pureness. Her blonde hair was tied back into an intricate ponytail. When he had first met her, the priest had been afraid to approach her, surprising himself. He had thought that she was the product of the corrupt Grail.

The older man shook his head and smiled. That had changed fast after he found out who she was. She was a being that not even the twisted Grail could corrupt.

He strode towards her, until he stood barely three feet behind her. Davide gave her a few minutes to finish any prayer that she was currently giving before speaking, "All of the Servants have been summoned, Jeanne."

The girl identified as Jeanne d'Arc stood up, a saddened look on her face as she stated quietly, "Then the Holy Grail War shall commence once again."

**A/N: Alright, this is my first time writing a fanfic for Fate/Stay Night, and I'm also not completely familiar with some of the intricacies of the Nasuverse. I would appreciate constructive criticism, and would prefer that there be no flaming of this story. Review please!**


	2. Day One

**A/N: Thanks for the positive reviews people! Sorry if I don't get creative with the titles, but I doubt you are here just for that. By the way, each of the summoning scenes had a hint as to the Servants identity aside from Roland, who was obvious. But I'll let you figure that out. So without further ado, here is Day One.**

Day One

December 22, 2124

Taiki was still amazed. It had been three days since he summoned Roland the Paladin. He was just like the legends described him. He was polite, a bit laid back, friendly, and charismatic. Saya's luminescent blush could attest to the latter, though she furiously denied it.

What those same legends failed to mention, however, was the knight's black hole of a stomach.

The entirety of the Tohsaka family watched in amazement as Saber devoured everything that was put in front of him. So far, he had eaten two entire pots of rice, five pork chops, three whole fish, seven heads of broccoli, used up an entire bottle of sauce, drained six bottles of sake, as well as three bottles of western wine. And he showed no sign of stopping.

Hanako, the family cat, kept her distance from the Servant out of, what the Tohsakas assumed, fear of being added to the menu. They unanimously agreed that the cat was the wisest among them.

Taiki, Saya, and their father simultaneously shuddered as they watched the food disappear. The grocery bill would be going up immensely for the next week or so. The three mourned quietly for their soon-to-be-lost funds as they ate what didn't get absorbed by the knight.

After five more agonizing minutes, Roland finally put down his chopsticks and leaned back, a task made easier by the fact that he was not wearing his armor anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a more modern outfit consisting of a red long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. Originally, they were going to have him wear some of Taiki's spare clothes, but he was bulkier than the magus, so they were tight on him. Before Taiki and Kariya could speak, Saya was already dragging the knight out the door to go shopping. He briefly wondered if some of Taiga Fujimura had been spliced into his sister at some point.

The Master had a sneaking suspicion that she had wanted to parade Roland around in front of her friends. He had pitied the paladin for a second before sitting down to watch TV.

When he had come back nearly seven hours later carrying a mound of bags, Roland looked traumatized and vowed never to go shopping with Saya ever again unsupervised. He had then asked, almost begged, Taiki to use a command seal to make it physically impossible. One look at Saber's haunted expression almost made him do it. Understandably, Saya was put out by this, though it had been dampened by the enormous grin she had on her face when she walked into the manor.

As he remembered, the magus couldn't help but smirk. Roland's eyes shifted to him, "Something amusing, Master?"

Taiki shook his head, "No, just recalling your excursion yesterday. You never did say what happened." This time he kept his mirth to himself as the knight's face went pale. Petty, yes, but Taiki wanted to get at least some revenge for the Servant emptying out the pantry.

"Master, for both my sanity and yours, I suggest that it stay that way."

Taiki let a knowing smirk appear on his face, "Let me guess. Short skirts and a breeze?" He noted Roland's left eyebrow twitch. To his amusement, he also saw that Saya's face had turned a bright red, "Personal space issues? I know that Saya's friends can get a bit touchy with guys they like." He should know, he had been on the receiving end before.

The paladin gave his Master a warning glare. Taiki saw out of the corner of his eye that his father was barely containing his laughter. People always did say that he took more after his father than his mother.

"Master, I believe we should start looking for Servants tonight." Roland then stood up abruptly and headed out of the room.

"You never got laid, did you?" Taiki asked bluntly, doing his best to hide his trolling face.

As soon as that sentence was uttered, the knight managed to find the one loose floorboard in the house and promptly tripped on it. The magus and his father fist-bumped, and Saya was apparently too stunned by the question to reprimand them.

Roland scraped up as much of his dignity as he could before standing up, keeping his back to the family. He did not want them to see that his face had gone bright red, "I fail to see how that question applies to our current situation." He paused, "And for your information, women were throwing themselves at me almost constantly."

"I'm sure that your skills as a mighty knight of the Holy Roman Empire allowed you to escape unscathed." Taiki retorted. Roland muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Not always." The magus let the comment go by, "But on to other things. Apparently a few days ago, a bunch of high school girls got attacked and killed."

"A sad thing to hear, but murder is a product of society." The knight thought for a second as he sat back down at the table, "However, you would not bring this up to me unless you believed it pertained to the Grail War."

"Correct. There were three victims. The first was two days ago, and the others occurred yesterday. I didn't find out about the others until a few hours ago."

"So far, it sounds like a human serial killer," Roland remarked.

"I'm not done yet," Taiki held up a finger, the universal shut up-and-listen sign, "All three were found completely drained of blood, removed through bite marks."

"A vampire, then? But they exist outside of the Grail's influence anyway. Perhaps one simply migrated into your city," The Servant countered.

Kariya shook his head, "No, as the Second Owner of Fuyuki, I would have known if a Dead Apostle powerful enough to risk acting so brazenly had come into my land. Besides, there was a bounded field set up around Fuyuki twenty years ago to keep them out. It's tied to the leyline, so there's plenty of power, and it doesn't drain enough to damage anything living in range."

Taiki interrupted, "Also, there are records of a similar event occurring in the Fifth Grail War. Apparently, the Rider that was summoned was forced to do so by her Master because he couldn't supply her with prana. But most of her victims lived through it."

"Unless Vlad Tepes III was summoned, or the Rider from the previous War was summoned, we can count out most of the classes except for Assassin or Caster," Kariya scratched his chin, "Any insight, Roland?"

The knight shook his head, "This does not match up with any of the Hassan-I Sabbah, nor any incarnation of Zabaniya."

"How do you know?" Taiki asked, curious.

"You forget, Master, two of the Peers were converted Muslims. Fierabras and I had many theological discussions after he joined us, and the topic of the guardians of Hell came up occasionally. The Grail provided me with information on the Assassins," Roland replied, "Besides, the Hashshashin hated vampires as much as the Catholic Church does. They would never resort to such actions. Even they had standards in that regard."

"Alright, so we're dealing with either a vampiric Servant, or an incompetent Master. I'm sincerely hoping for the latter." Taiki noted the look on his father's face, "What is it Dad?"

"I'm thinking. If we are limiting ourselves to Servants that were seen as vampires in their own legend, then that narrows it down quite a bit. Obviously, there is Vlad Tepes, but I highly doubt it. The real one did not partake in blood-drinking nor was he a vampire, contrary to popular legend. That leaves only one other," He winced, "Elizabeth Bathory."

Saya paled, "Oh hell."

Taiki suppressed a shudder, leaving Roland confused, "Who is Elizabeth Bathory?"

"The most prolific serial killer in history. She's no hero, at least not in the traditional sense." Kariya explained, "She was a Hungarian countess who lived in the late sixteenth century, later known as the "Blood Countess." She believed that drinking and bathing in the blood of young maidens would preserve her youth and beauty. She lured in and killed nearly seven hundred young girls from the lands around her castle to fulfill this purpose, under the guise of using her castle as a boarding school. These recent murders only reinforce my suspicions."

Roland's expression darkened, "How was this allowed to occur?"

"Aristocratic privilege. Legally, it was well within her rights as the ruler of her lands to do so. The government of Hungary didn't move until she started targeting the daughters of other nobility. After that, she was quickly apprehended and sealed inside of her own castle to starve to death, and her accomplices were executed."

"A fitting fate for one such as her. And you suspect she was summoned for this war?" The knight inquired.

Taiki leaned back in his chair, "At this point, it's all conjecture. She's the most likely given the evidence and the demographic of the victims, but we won't know for sure until we confront the killer." He rested his chin on his fist, "Fortunately, if we are dealing with the Blood Countess, then she is limited on what class she can be. She was no warrior, nor was she a magus, just a bloodthirsty aristocrat. However, if she is an Assassin, that means it will be hard to find her on account of the Presence Concealment skill granted to the class. Or she may have something completely different, only the Grail knows."

He paused, "And for that reason, we'll need bait. She prefers young, virgin girls."

The gazes of everyone shifted to Saya. Her eyes darted back and forth between the three others, "No. No nononononono. Hell no. There is no way I'm doing that." Slightly panicked, she struggled to find a reason to deny it, "B-besides, how do you know if I'm still a virgin?"

Both Taiki and their father gave her a flat look, and her brother responded, "Because you've never had a boyfriend, not to mention that most guys are terrified of you."

"Alright, I'll give you that point," She huffed, "But there is no way that you are getting me to go along with this. Absolutely none."

* * *

Ten minutes later…

"How the hell did you talk me into this?" Saya moaned as they walked down the dark street.

Taiki non-chalantly replied, adjusting his coat to make sure that his pistol was still hidden, "Because I promised that you could take Saber out shopping again tomorrow?"

"You threatened him with a command seal, didn't you?"

"Yup," the magus smirked. The look on the knight's face had been priceless, such that he had taken a picture of it on his phone for posterity, "Of course, I'll be going with you this time. I don't think that he would appreciate being left alone with your group again, and I really don't want to antagonize him at this point."

"Prepare to be groped again," Saya added with a knowing smirk.

"Don't remind me," her brother rolled his eyes, "Your friends are really bold, and I really hope they don't pass that on to you. I don't think that Saber could handle it."

His younger sister let out a very unlady-like snort. At least she was somewhat calmed down from her previous hype. The pair finally came to a four-way stop.

Taiki looked her in the eye, "Well, you know what to do. If you get jumped, activate the gem, and we'll come running," he spared a glance behind him, where Roland stood in astral form.

Saya nodded nervously before heading off. The older brother sighed. Even though he suggested the idea, he still didn't like it. Or more precisely, he didn't like that he had to use his sister as part of the plan. The more he thought about it, the more that he considered the plan very magus-like. It was cold, and done to get results.

"Come on, Saber. Let's get up somewhere high, so we can keep an eye on things." He was careful to only refer to Roland by his class when out in public.

Said task was extremely easy considering that the number of skyscrapers in Fuyuki had increased exponentially in the past century, as well as their size. It was to the point where one could not see the sky while standing on the ground. Getting past the security for those skyscrapers was another matter entirely.

And entirely irrelevant. Roland simply jumped up to the top, with his Master in tow. When they reached the roof, Taiki pulled his coat closed, both to ward off the cold, and to activate the runes inscribed on the inside.

He had always preferred winter, though definitely not because of the cold, but rather he had more clothing to put runes on. The clothing he was wearing right now had enough protective power that he could theoretically fall off of the fifty story building he was standing on right then and survive the impact with only a broken arm or leg. Not that he wanted to try out that particular feature anytime soon, nor did he want to explain to curious onlookers.

Taking out a pair of binoculars, he settled down on the edge of the building and waited.

He hated waiting.

* * *

To say Saya was terrified would be an understatement of the highest proportion. She was being sent out as bait for a being that could tear her apart as easily as tissue paper and wanted to drink her blood. Nevertheless, she kept going, managing to successfully reign in her fear.

She heard something flutter nearby, and whipped around. Seeing nothing, the teenager slowly turned back around, only to find a pair of blood red eyes barely five feet away from her. In that moment, her heart almost burst from surprise. She fumbled around in her pocket for the sapphire, but it slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground.

At this point, she was too terrified to move. Saya could only quake in fear as the Servant stalked towards her. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Only it didn't come.

Instead, there was a loud crash as something metal collided with her to-be attacker. She opened her eyes again, to find a large man adorned in dull grey plate armor that fully concealed his features. Wielding a shield and longsword, he stood between Saya and Assassin. All was silent for a moment, except for a strange ticking noise, seemingly originating from her protector.

The helmet turned towards her for a second to glance at her before turning back to his foe. Saya managed to get a better look at her.

It was definitely Elizabeth Bathory. She looked nearly identical to her painted portrait, except that her hair and eyes were a darker red. Dressed in a tight black dress, she looked more like she was about to go clubbing than fight in a deathmatch.

Before she could think about much else, Elizabeth screeched and slashed at the knight. Her claws raked against the armor, leaving deep scratches in it. A loud whirring sound echoed as the warrior reacted by trying to bash her with his shield. Assassin deftly moved out of the way just in time to duck to avoid the sword swing that followed.

By now, Saya had regained her senses and scrambled to pick up the gem. As soon as it was in her hand, she activated it.

* * *

Taiki's head shot up as he felt the pulse of prana, "That was fast. Let's go." He didn't hesitate to leap off of the building, trusting Roland to stop his fall and get him the rest of the way there. The magus couldn't afford to be fearful of anything at the moment, not when his sister's life was on the line.

He felt rather than saw Roland grab him and lift him. The street below became a blur as the pair homed in on the gem's signal. However, it wasn't quite what they were expecting.

Instead of finding his sister in the grasp of the vampire, Saya was on the ground watching the fight unfolding in front of her, too terrified to move away. While looking at the combatants, he both had questions answered and new ones to ponder. Assassin was definitely Elizabeth Bathory, but her opponent was a mystery.

As soon as the pair landed, Elizabeth immediately abandoned the battlefield. Two against one were most certainly not in her favor. However, she got in one last strike before leaving.

Her left hand latched onto the side of the helmet and tore it from the knight's shoulders, revealing nothing underneath. Rather than fall down like any reasonable headless being should, the knight simply swung its sword at her once again. Backpedalling as fast as she could, the vampire quickly darted away, back into the shadows. Her superior speed and agility would ensure that she got away.

When she was gone, it simply reached down and picked up its fallen head and put it back on its shoulders.

Roland already had Durendal in hand, pointed at the knight, "Who and what are you?"

The grey helmet turned to regard the paladin, and then projected an Italian-accented male voice, "I am no undead thing, if that is what you are wondering. Saber, I presume?"

Feeling ignored, Taiki spoke up, "I guess that you just saved my sister, so I thank you for that."

"You are Taiki and Saya Tohsaka, correct?"

"Yes," the magus answered slowly, his hand reaching for his pistol.

"Then your thanks should be short-lived. I have been told to kill you, specifically," the helmet turned to Saber, "Master's orders, you understand."

By the time that the second half of the grey knight's sentence was spoken, Roland was already swinging Durendal at it. The armored being brought its shield to bear, but the holy sword cleaved completely through it and the arm underneath just below the shoulder. An iron shield barely a centimeter thick was not going to stop a blade that could cut nearly half of a foot into a block of iron.

The two halves of the shield clattered to the ground with the arm, leaving the suit of armor unbalanced for a moment. The paladin took the initiative and quickly sliced off the other arm before whipping the blade up to where the neck would be.

"Now, who are you?" Roland asked, scowling. He was more confused than angry at the moment. Who was this being that did not bleed, nor feel pain from losing limbs?

The suit of armor chuckled, "Well played, Saber. I figured that this automaton would be no match for the Knight of the Sword. Especially one such as you, Roland. You really should have done something to conceal your weapon, it's too recognizable. Or at least it was for me." The armor awkwardly bowed, "I am Caster, though I will not tell you my name. That, you will have to find out on your own. Until next time."

"Next time?" Taiki said out loud before feeling a spark of prana from inside of the armor, "Saber, move!"

The Servant leaped back and grabbed up his Master and Saya, getting just out of range before nearly four pounds of C7 explosives went off. The shockwave was enough to briefly deafen Taiki and his sister.

As soon as he was set down, Taiki turned around to survey the damage. The remains of the automaton were nothing more than ash. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he sent a thought through his Master-Servant connection, _Nothing left here, let's head home. That blast disintegrated the remains._

* * *

Rider was a king. But he was a king without subjects, and that would not do. So he now found himself kicking down the door to a rundown warehouse on the docks. The King had seen people come in and out of the building, dressed in similar clothing.

Inside were nearly twenty people, ranging from sixteen to twenty years of age or so. Immediately, he was surrounded. Most of the members were armed, though not with anything more than knives and lengths of chain. However, the man that Rider assumed was the leader had a pistol. Which was aimed directly at his head.

"So, mind telling me what you're doing in here, asshole?" the gang leader sneered. The weapon seemed like a toy in the large man's hands.

Off to the side was another, smaller than the leader, who muttered to the first one, "I don't think you should do that boss. I got a bad feeling about him…"

He didn't get to continue as the gang leader's free hand punched him square in the jaw. The shorter man staggered back, rubbing his chin, "Alright, alright, I'll shut up now." Softer than most could hear, he whispered, "Your funeral."

The boss turned back to the intruder, "Again, what the hell are you doing here, asshole?"

Rider's red eyes moved from the lackey to the leader, "I am here to take control of your group."

The other man blinked, and then used a pinky to clean out one ear, "I'm sorry, I think I misheard. Did you just say that you were going to take over my gang? You and what army, you skirt-wearing freak?"

Faster than most of the people in the room could blink, Rider had moved and was now gripping the top of the leader's head with his right hand. With a single jerk, the man's head was removed from its mooring. Dripping blood onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, he held it aloft for the others to see. Then, the Servant crushed it like an over-ripe melon.

"I need no army to kill you," Rider looked around the room, blood splattered all over him, "Any other questions?"

The lean man from before raised his hand, and was immediately judged as being the bravest and possibly dumbest among them by the others, "When do we start?"

Rider smirked, "Now."

* * *

**Name: Roland the Paladin**

**Class: Saber**

**Stats-**

**Strength: A**

**Agility: A**

**Endurance: A**

**Mana: C**

**Luck: C**

**Noble Phantasms:**

**Durendal**

**Rank: A**

**Type: Anti-Unit**

Durendal is the holy sword gifted to Roland by Emperor Charlemagne. Forged by Wayland the Smith, three holy relics were placed into the hilt to provide the blade with three miracles that made the blade indestructible. It does not require prana to keep the edge sharp. Weapons made of lesser metal cannot stand up to it, though Noble Phantasm-level weapons can block it.

**?**

**Rank: ?**

**Type: ?**

**Class Skills:**

**Magic Resistance: A**

**Riding: B**

**Personal Skills:**

**Bravery: A**

**Charisma: B**

**Instinct: A**

* * *

**Name: Elizabeth Bathory**

**Title: Blood Countess**

**Class: Assassin**

**Stats-**

**Strength: D**

**Agility: B**

**Endurance: C**

**Mana: C**

**Luck: C**

**Noble Phantasm:**

**Čachtice Castle**

**Rank: B**

**Type: Anti-Army**

Originally the castle which saw the torture and deaths of so many young women, it now takes the form of a bounded field. Starting at a small thirty feet in diameter, it steadily grows as it absorbs more and more blood from people caught inside of it. For every ten people drained, Elizabeth gains a permanent one rank boost to Strength, Agility, and Endurance, and her healing rate increases.

**Class Skills:**

**Presence Concealment: C**

**Independent Action: C**

**Personal Skills:**

**False Vampire: A **

Due to not being a true vampire in life, as a Heroic Spirit, Elizabeth Bathory acquires some of the traits of one. She has a weakness to sunlight, and cannot operate during the daytime without risking damage, nor can she stand against holy weapons. She can gain a temporary boost in Strength, Agility, and Endurance by drinking blood directly from a human, with a timespan of about twelve hours. If she goes for more than one day without drinking blood through normal means or her Noble Phantasm, her abilities will begin to weaken. It also provides her with a weaker version of the Mystic Eyes of Enchantment that are common among true vampires.

**Mental Pollution: B**

**Surgical Procedure: D**

* * *

**A/N: Alright, thanks for being patient and reading! Sorry it took me nearly a month to finish this chapter, but I am not a very prolific writer, and now I have final exams coming up. With that being said, don't expect much until about midway through December at earliest. Well, review please!**


	3. Day One Part II

**A/N: I have to say, this chapter was kind of fun to write. Sorry it took me so long to get it up. I had a brain fart for most of Christmas break, so I was stuck with about a page for about a month. Anyway, here it is.**

Day One Continued

Fuyuki Harbor, December 22, 2124 10:50 P.M.

"Archer, are you sure that this is where you felt the other Servant?" Alexandra asked, shivering from the cold. Having been born in the year-round summer of Greece, she was unused to the cold.

Her companion, while taking it better than his Master, clearly did not appreciate the cold any more than her. Especially since he was dressed in his armor, which was designed for much warmer climates. A gleaming bronze breastplate protected his chest, a knee length kilt covered his thighs, and shin and arm guards protected his limbs. His head was covered by an old style Corinthian helm, "I'm quite sure. I'd be a crappy Archer if I couldn't track a Servant's prana signature." He froze, "They're behind us."

The sound of a large pair of hands clapping heralded the presence of their quarry, followed by a deep, booming voice, "Well done, Archer. You played along quite nicely, chasing me all the way here from the mountain."

The pair of Greeks whirled, Archer's bow already strung and drawn. What they found was a giant, hulking man with blonde hair sitting on top of one of the nearby cargo containers. His bare shoulders were already coated in powdery snow, which fell off when he shifted. His face was unreadable, courtesy of the bone mask that hid everything save for his glowing red eyes, which conveyed a mocking tone all by themselves.

"I would have preferred to slaughter you there, but my Master "suggested" that I find a less populated place," the titan gestured around them, "So here we are." With a grunt, he pushed himself off of his perch.

"Before we fight, I would know who you are," Archer remarked, noting that he barely reached up to the enemy's shoulder, "I would perfectly understand if you were too scared, as I see that you fight while wearing a mask."

"I have heard better insults from lame beggars," the warrior replied, "The mask is an unfortunate side-effect of my summoning. I did not possess it in life, and I cannot remove it."

"You are not one of the knight classes, that is certain," the Greek quipped, "So you are the only possible one left. Berserker."

A snort was the only reply he got before a massive axe started descending towards his helmed head. The archer pushed his master to the side before leaping back, firing his bow mid-jump. The mighty bow thrummed and sank its projectile into the meaty flesh of the Berserker's unarmored shoulder.

The giant didn't even stagger, even though the impact created a shockwave. The arrow had hit with the force of an artillery shell.

Again, the axe came for his life. Again, Archer moved back to avoid it. But this time, it was a much closer thing. He saw the broad weapon descend, more than a few feet away from his face. At first, he was relieved when he did not hear the screech of metal against metal.

But then a line of light began to appear and widen on the inside of his helmet. With a stunned look on his face, Archer realized that the wind behind the axe had cut clean through his headgear, and just missed splitting his skull open like an overripe melon. The two halves of the helmet fell to the ground with a _thud_ before dispersing into a cloud of dust.

A trickle of blood ran down the Servant's face from a vertical cut on his forehead.

Alexandra watched the short exchange in terror. Her Servant was being overwhelmed, and only in the first few seconds. Without knowing the man's weaknesses, it was all Archer could do to retreat and fire at random unless he used a Noble Phantasm.

"Is this all you have? Some Heroic Spirit you are," Berserker taunted.

Archer's face scrunched up in rage for a moment, before breaking into a lopsided grin, "Very well." With a grunt, he jumped much farther back, landing on top of one of the cargo containers. Drawing back the mighty bow, an arrow appeared, ready to fire. A line of circles appeared in front of it, numbering twenty-two in all, "Shot of the Twenty-two Axe Heads." He released the arrow, which moved faster than the eye could see, even those of a Servant.

The hulking warrior let out a roar of pain as it imbedded itself in his right eye. Blood pooled in the eye socket of his mask before running down the front of it, dying the bone crimson. A large hand reached up and immediately ripped the object out of the wound, causing a spray of blood to burst out. With his remaining eye, Berserker glared at Archer. Then he did the unexpected.

He laughed. A gut-busting laugh that could be heard from nearly half of a mile away.

"Against anyone else, that would have been a sure kill or crippling. But not me!" The Viking boomed, "COME ON, THE WARM UP IS OVER!" With that, he let out a bestial howl and took a running leap at the surprised Archer.

The Greek cursed and fired three more arrows as he drew back away from the madman. All hit their target's center of mass, but none slowed the monster down. He dove out of the way as Berserker's axe dug descended, causing it to dig into the metal of the cargo container. Again, the weapon slid through the metal as though it were butter, leaving a gouge nearly as long as he was tall. Then the force behind the attack hit, hurling Archer nearly fifty feet away and blasting the cargo container in half.

One good hit from that weapon, combined with Berserker's monstrous strength, would almost certainly cut clean through his torso, or at least a limb. Archer was unsure if it was the weapon or the wielder that was causing the effect, but he had no intention of getting close enough to find out.

Blood continued to weep from the warrior's now-many wounds, but he continued to laugh. Alexandra found herself becoming more and more disturbed by the minute. She, along with most Europeans, had heard stories of the berserker warriors of the North. Men who willingly went into frenzies to slaughter as many as physically possible, friends and allies alike. They were the scourge of the old Roman Republic and medieval Europe for centuries, nearly unstoppable until decapitated or exhausted. They felt no pain, and the limits on the human body were lifted, allowing them to use their full strength to tear through their enemies, even at the cost of permanent damage if they survived when they calmed down.

It was madness, but it was a madness that they willingly took on, unlike all of the other insane warriors throughout history.

As a Heroic Spirit and Servant, one of those men would be a terror indeed, no matter what class they were summoned as. As a Berserker, they would be an absolute nightmare.

And now, she was staring straight at one. The magus was trembling slightly as she looked at his stats through her Grail-given vision.

Strength: A++. Endurance: A++. Agility: A++. Mana: D. Luck: E-

Mad Enhancement: A. Rage of the Norseman: A.

Battle Continuation: EX.

This Servant…this THING…was a monster. His physical stats were just short of being incalculable. The Rage of the Norseman skill, the one that she didn't recognize, seemed to add onto the effects of Mad Enhancement, and allowed him to stay mostly sane. Alexandra couldn't conceive of any way that a magus would be able to support him. The prana drain of a Berserker was near legendary. The Master of one was usually killed by either prana exhaustion or their own summon's weapon. A Berserker of this power would have killed the summoner on the spot and leave them a withered husk.

"Archer, his Battle Continuation skill is off the charts!" She shouted. She hoped her Servant could think of a plan to beat him. After all, he had been known for doing impossible things when he was alive, and this certainly counted as one.

"Damn it," Archer muttered as he leaped back, ignoring the blood that was dripping from his chin onto his armor. He couldn't afford to get too close to Berserker. Even the aftershock of each swing was enough to hurt him. His enemy was the Trojan Wall made flesh, and he didn't have a wooden horse on hand. His Noble Phantasms were terrible at combating a foe such as this, except for perhaps one.

And with an EX rank in Battle Continuation, his arrows wouldn't be able to kill him. Berserker would live through everything short of decapitation, and even then it would be debatable considering his ability to shrug off hits like they never happened. Overall, he was matched up against his worst possible opponent.

A smirk broke onto the Archer's face, "Only one thing I can do. Guess I have to use it." Once again, he placed an arrow on his bowstring and drew it back. However, this time, he had a slight glow around him as he activated his most powerful, and double-sided, Noble Phantasm. He muttered its name under his breath, "Blessing of the Fickle War Goddess."

By draining his EX ranked Luck down to E for twenty-four hours, he could completely control the probability of something happening. With it, he can make literally anything he can think of happen. A spell failing, a support weakening, a heart attack in a specific target.

Or an arrow hitting a target in just the right place, and then detonating for some unknown reason.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The bowman's fingers released the arrow. The Berserker charged. Alexandra covered her eyes.

And then suddenly, the mad warrior disappeared in a flash of red light.

Archer's grin remained as he noticed that the arrow had disappeared with him. Whether or not it did significant damage to his opponent was a question best left for later. Rejoining his Master, he suggested in a soft tone, "We should retreat for tonight. After using that, I'd rather not encounter any other Servants. It would not end well, especially if we are expecting more enemies like that."

His Master only replied with a numb nod, suddenly not so sure about participating in the war anymore.

* * *

Einzbern Manor, December 22, 2124 11:45 A.M.

Caster took a sip from the tea cup in his left hand as his other hit the replay button on the keyboard, though the term "keyboard" was used loosely as it was a hard light construct rather than a plastic one of the previous century.

On the screen, the fight between Archer and Berserker raged once more, recorded by a drone, tailor-made to track prana signatures similar to his own. The bearded man watched with interest as the Viking shrugged off hits that would have sunk warships, though what truly grabbed his attention was the name of Archer's Noble Phantasms. The other Servant had muttered the names, so he had had to alter the feed to focus on solely that.

Shot of the Twenty-two Axeheads. Blessing of the Fickle War Goddess.

"_Interessante. Molto interessante_," he smirked. This man was a legend with which he was _very_ well-acquainted. His strengths and weaknesses were known to him. His smile turned to a frown. Despite that, Archer, or rather Odysseus, was his counter in this war. Undoubtedly, he would have access to a Noble Phantasm that was based off of the famous Trojan Horse.

And what was a magus' workshop but another type of fortress?

Regardless, Caster found himself excited. He would be able to match wits against the King of Tricksters himself.

That same excitement dulled when he considered Archer's opponent. Obviously, he was a savage from the frozen North. But he did not coincide with any that he knew of. He was neither Beowulf, as he would have loudly announced his identity if he were, nor was he Siegfried the Dragonslayer, as he wielded an axe instead of a sword.

And that mask…

It reminded him of the one worn by the various incarnations of Hassan-i Sabbah. He briefly wondered if there was a face underneath of it, before shaking the errant thought away. He hit the replay button again.

This incarnation of Odysseus did not seem to carry a blade, so he would remain at range. This would work for and against Caster. True, he would be at an optimal range to use his abilities, but so would his opponent.

Berserker would simply charge straight in. He was a juggernaut, the proverbial unstoppable force. However, considering how much damage Archer had done to him, the Viking might be out of commission for at least another night, though that depended on how good his Master was. Considering that they had managed to summon this monster and maintain him, he may be underestimating the warrior's rate of recovery.

His eyes flicked to another screen, showing his automaton's skirmish with Assassin. For a Servant, she was incredibly weak. His creation had the equivalent of C rank in all stats, and it had managed to drive her off single-handed. Caster's upper lip curled in disgust. How such a creature was ever admitted into the Throne of Heroes he would never know. He did not know who she was, and he did not care to. Thankfully, she would most likely be killed off soon.

Saber on the other hand…

Setting his now empty cup aside, he leaned back into his chair, steepling his fingers with a neutral look on his face. Through the camera in the robot's head, he watched as that magnificent blade sliced through steel as though it were paper. Both the sword and its wielder were easily identified. Roland the Paladin, the leader of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne and bearer of the legendary Durendal. While not as mighty as the Berserker of this war, he had taken apart his automaton with little effort.

He was to the Franks what Sir Lancelot was to the court of Camelot. He was the strongest knight in the Holy Roman Empire, and entrusted with a holy blade of great power. With his eleven subordinates, a motley group made up of Saracen giants, sorcerers, and warriors alike, their combined power was that of an entire army. If he were to guess, Caster would have to assume that the other knights were part of a shared Noble Phantasm, as their bond with him was almost as famous as he was by himself.

In any other Grail War, he would have said that Roland would have dominated the competition. But after observing the others and taking stock of his own abilities, the Paladin would actually end up in the middle of the power scale. Berserker was an outright monster and Archer was the infamous Odysseus, who had forged his legend out of taking down foes much stronger than himself. Assassin was the only one that any of the other Servants had a near guarantee of taking down.

Rider, though he had not unleashed any of his abilities as of yet, was impossible not to find. He constantly emitted enough prana to be detected for a radius of nearly half a mile. However, Caster was wary of him. Based on the records of each previous war, the Riders had a startling tendency to be some of humanity's most powerful heroes, equipped with what some would call "completely broken" Noble Phantasms. The Fourth War was a prime example, with Alexander the Great being summoned, who in turn could summon his entire army within the boundaries of a Reality Marble. And this hero was much older than the fabled King of Conquerors.

Strangely, the only one that he could not account for was Lancer. One of his drones had gotten a blip when he was summoned. Before the enemy Servant had destroyed it, the machine had managed to send back a recording. To Caster's frustration, all he saw was a white blur. No facial features, no distinguishing items. Nothing. After that night, his robots had found neither hide nor hair of the mysterious Servant. Something was blocking out his prana signature, and it was irritating him to no end.

Sighing, Caster stood up, smoothing the front of his new outfit, which consisted of a grey-blue dress shirt with a black silk tie, a pair of black slacks, and black shoes and socks. A suit coat hung off of the back of his chair, which he ignored for the moment as he started to pace around the room. It was a spacious office, and it occupied the top floor of the north tower of the manor, giving it a full view of the forest. At first, he had been slightly disturbed by the fact that there were no walls, rather a large window that wrapped completely around the circular room. The only cover was the desk which housed the computer's CPU and the various bookshelves scattered around the floor. Now, he had simply gotten used to it.

As the first night of the war was nearing its end, he needed to come up with a plan to deal with the individual Servants. His right arm supported his left as he stroked his beard.

Assassin would be dealt with by the other Servants soon enough, considering the mess she was making with her killing spree. Failing that, he could always spare a strike squad of automatons. If one could drive her off, five would be enough to put her down permanently.

The others, however, would not be as easily dealt with. Saber had already proven adept at slicing up his creation, even with the C7 surprise he had packed in it. Sending strike teams would only drive him to ally with another Servant against the automaton's creator, namely him. Sending an army would not only draw an immense amount of attention, but also deplete his forces.

On the day he had arrived in Fuyuki, he had created five automatons that had the sole purpose of creating more. Each one could build five at a time, and then half of those would start building more. By the present time, he had nearly two hundred under his command, fifty of which were scattered in the forest as an early warning system.

The other Servants would cut through them like butter.

However, his automatons were not the only weapons in his arsenal.

A shuffling sound from behind him drew his attention away from his musings. A smile broke out on his face when he saw who it was.

"Isaviel, what are you doing up at this hour?" Caster asked gently.

The small white haired, red-eyed girl simply looked up at him, a blank look on her cherubic face. Another sigh escaped his lips. The homunculus was another area where he did not agree with his Master. Caster held all life sacred, even that of an artificial being, where the elder Von Einzbern treated her as little more than a tool. After his previous failures with the creations, the alchemist had removed their ability to have emotions, as he believed that factor contributed to the past losses.

And yet inexplicably, she damn near clung to the Servant's side whenever she was awake.

"I couldn't sleep," Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her speak, "I kept seeing monsters." If his senses weren't already superhuman, he would have missed the slight inflection caused by fear.

"Monsters?" Caster blinked. He was surprised, not from what she said, but how she said it, "In your dreams?"

"In my head, after I closed my eyes," Isaviel answered in her usual monotone, "Were those dreams?"

The machinist schooled his expression of shock back into a warm smile. Sitting back down in his chair, he beaconed for her to sit on his lap, "Yes, they were. Come, child. Tell me about these monsters."

He noted that the homunculus was light, no more than forty or fifty pounds. The empty look on her face had disturbed him at first, but now he just pitied the poor child.

Oh Caster knew what the old man intended to use her for. And he despised him all the more for it. He hated himself for not being able to do anything about it.

Caster had been hailed as a genius before and after his death, but now he felt like the village idiot.

Isaviel began, describing a giant of a man, with skin so bronzed that it was almost black, and hair the color of the night sky. A single glowing red eye pierced through the darkness. It was the creature's roar that had startled her awake.

When she had tried to sleep again, this time she saw a suit of armor, blackened as though covered in dried blood. From inside of the helmet with the glowing visor, she could hear sobs that were interrupted by screams of rage. The thing had charged her, once again sending her back to the waking world.

The third time, she saw nothing, only hearing the distorted laughter of…something. Out of the three, the last terrified her the most.

Soon after, exhaustion took her, and she curled up against Caster's chest. He was now looking down at her with a thoughtful look on his face. He had realized half way through that she was speaking of Servants of past wars, reliving the memories of the other homunculi to participate in the war, though why she was only seeing the Berserkers was uncertain. The first had been Heracles, summoned by Isaviel's predecessor Ilyasviel, and the Berserker of the Fifth war. The other, though his identity had never been uncovered, was the Berserker of the Fourth.

The third apparition mystified him. Without a physical description, he could not match it to any of the participants, though he strongly suspected that it had to do with the Einzbern's meddling of the rules during the Third Grail War. After all, it allowed the summoning of Anti-heroes such as Bluebeard and Medea.

He allowed himself a small smirk. It seemed that in the entire history of the Holy Grail War, he was the only Caster that wasn't a blood-thirsty lunatic.

As was usual lately, the mirth was short-lived. Isa was starting to develop emotions, in spite of her programmed genes. If Jubstacheit found out…

A mask of determination placed itself on his face. He swiveled the chair around, careful not to wake the child on his lap, and opened up an anonymous messaging program.

The hard-light keys clacked lightly as he typed away.

_Reaper,_

_I have a task that you may like. As you are no doubt aware, the Holy Grail War has sprung up unexpectedly once more in Fuyuki City. The head of the Einzbern family is outside of his castle, and is a Master participating in the war. I need him removed. His Servant will not be a problem._

_-Deus ex Machina_

* * *

Safe House, location unknown, December 22, 2124, 11:57 P.M.

Green eyes flicked over the message on the screen, trying to spot any lie in it. When he had received it, he had almost fallen out of his chair. Now wide awake, the assassin was considering his options. It was a fast decision.

_Deus ex Machina,_

_If this information is correct, I'll do this mission Gratis. Send over the pertinent information._

_-Reaper_

Deus ex Machina. "God in the Machine."Symbolic of his situation, or just plain egotistical? Whoever this person was, they had just become his best friend.

Another blip on the computer. Opening the message, he was bombarded with maps, detailing the placement of the Bounded Fields around the Einzbern manor and the physical defenses of the place. Also included was the contract. As per common sense, the assassin read through it in its entirety, and then once again.

Even though he said he was doing this for free, the contractor had included a sum of twenty million Euros, half of which was now in his bank account. Just below the amount, there was a condition, written in bold print.

**Do not harm any homunculi on the premises. The Einzbern are using one as the Grail container. Renegging on this part of the deal will result in the retraction of all money paid, as well as the assailant's life.**

He blinked in surprise. Whoever this was, they were either attached to the homunculi in some way, or they had a major stake in the war.

Richard Klieffer shrugged. He had no grudge against the creations, only the creators.

_Deus ex Machina,_

_The conditions are fine with me. Do I have a time frame to work with?_

_Reaper_

Though he asked the question, Richard already knew the answer before it came.

_Reaper,_

_Before the War ends._

_Deus ex Machina_

He closed the cover on his laptop, a smile on his face, an underrated reaction to the emotions he was feeling at the moment. Finally! He had been looking for a way for ten years, and now it was sitting in front of his on a silver platter!

The old bastard had finally come out of his lair.

Standing up, he managed to push down the joyous look on his face, instead adopting a neutral one before walking into the next room. As his hand reached for the handle, his eyes shifted from green to a bright blue.

He bowed to the figure lounging on the couch, "My lady, my contacts have found a lead on an enemy Master." He truly hated this part of the job. If he had the option, he would have killed her as many times as it took to keep her down permanently.

Blood red eyes darted towards him, and he felt, or rather saw, the tendrils of prana trying to wrap around his mind, only to be deflected. He would have smirked if he didn't feel the need to keep up the act. She still did not know that he was not some helpless sheep, though he would let her believe that he was firmly in her thrall.

After all, if she were killed, he couldn't be blamed for his actions while under her "control."

She stared at him for a moment, before looking away with a sniff, "Very well, tell me about this Master." She was still angry from being driven away from her prey. Rage was easy to work with.

"Of course, Lady Bathory." Manipulation was so much easier when the target believed they were manipulating the deceiver.

**A/N: And done. Wow, it's been a while since I updated, but here it is. Day One is pretty much over, and plots are already starting. In case you are wondering, Lancer probably isn't going to be doing much for a while, since he's still dodging Caster's drones. Still, I will probably bring him in next chapter, so until then review please! If you have a favorite Servant so far, go ahead and say it. I like to get people's opinions on my characters. Note: Jubstacheit is the only canon character that will be showing up in the story. As interesting as it would be, Zelretch will not be making an appearance. This war will be screwed enough up on its own, thank you very much.**

**Please refrain from using magecraft to figure out how to chuck rotten fruit through a computer screen. My friend wouldn't like it. (Berserker Lancelot towering in background)**


End file.
